Veil of Sparks

Kael's fingers twitched, faint sparks crackling along his knuckles before fading into nothingness. He stared at his hand, his jaw tight with concentration.

"Come on," he muttered.

He focused, willing the energy to return, to respond. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, a faint arc of blue lightning crackled between his fingers, brief but undeniable.

Kael let out a breath, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "There you are."

The realization that he had a Spark had been equal parts exhilarating and terrifying. For weeks, Kael had thrown himself into training with renewed vigor, determined to harness this new power. But the Spark was unpredictable, flickering in and out like a faulty lightbulb.

At first, it only activated in moments of intense emotion—frustration, anger, desperation. Kael's first attempts to summon it intentionally had ended with him flailing around like an idiot, muttering curses as his hands refused to cooperate.

But over time, he'd started to notice patterns.

The Spark seemed tied to his focus, responding when he concentrated on the feeling of energy coursing through him. It wasn't consistent—sometimes it worked, and sometimes it didn't—but it was progress.

Kael stood in the center of the ruined clearing he'd claimed as his training ground. The broken stone and overgrown weeds made the area feel isolated, like a forgotten piece of the city.

He raised his scavenged sword, gripping the hilt tightly. The chipped blade glinted in the faint light of the setting sun as Kael inhaled slowly, centering himself.

"Focus," he muttered.

He imagined the energy building in his chest, spreading down his arms, pooling in his fingertips. The sensation was faint at first, a tingling warmth that grew stronger with each passing second.

Blue sparks crackled along the blade, faint and flickering but undeniably there.

Kael swung the sword, the energy arcing forward in a flash of light. It struck a nearby boulder, leaving a shallow scorch mark across the surface.

Kael lowered the sword, a grin breaking across his face. "Hell yeah," he said, his voice breathless.

The surge of excitement faded quickly, replaced by a wave of exhaustion. Kael's legs wobbled, and he sank to one knee, gripping the hilt of his sword for support.

"Okay," he muttered, his chest heaving. "That's… gonna take some getting used to."

The next few days were a blur of trial and error.

Kael spent hours in the ruins, experimenting with his Spark and pushing himself to the brink. He discovered that the lightning wasn't just tied to his sword—he could summon it directly from his hands, though it was harder to control.

The energy burned hot and fast, leaving Kael drained after even the smallest burst. But with each practice session, he learned more about its limits.

Short Bursts: The lightning was most effective in quick, concentrated strikes. If he tried to sustain it for too long, it fizzled out, leaving him lightheaded.

Range: The energy seemed to arc naturally toward nearby objects, but anything farther than a few feet was a gamble.

Precision: The lightning was wild, often sparking in directions Kael didn't intend. He'd nearly zapped himself more than once.

One night, Kael sat by the faint glow of a conduit near the warehouse, his hands aching from a long day of practice.

"This is harder than it looks in the game," he muttered, staring at his palms. In Rise of Arclight, the Lightning Spark had been one of his favorite abilities—a flashy, powerful skill tree that let him rain down destruction.

But here, the power felt raw, unpredictable.

Kael flexed his fingers, watching as faint sparks crackled between them. "You're strong," he whispered. "I just have to figure out how to make you work for me."

The next morning, Kael ventured into the heart of Solvane, his body sore but his mind focused. The city was bustling with activity, the streets crowded with merchants, adventurers, and civilians preparing for the upcoming Recruitment Festival.

Kael slipped through the crowd, his eyes scanning the market stalls. His coin pouch was pitifully light, but he needed supplies—food, maybe a sturdier weapon if he could find one cheap enough.

He stopped at a blacksmith's stall, where rows of gleaming swords and axes were displayed on a wooden rack. Kael's gaze lingered on a short sword with a polished blade, its edge sharp and precise.

"How much for this one?" Kael asked, pointing to the sword.

The blacksmith, a burly man with arms like tree trunks, glanced at the weapon. "Fifteen silver," he said gruffly.

Kael winced. He didn't even have half that.

"Got anything cheaper?"

The blacksmith snorted, gesturing to a pile of rusted and battered weapons near the back of the stall. "Take your pick."

Kael sifted through the pile, finally settling on a plain dagger with a chipped edge. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He handed over the last of his coins, ignoring the blacksmith's smirk as he pocketed the money.

Kael returned to the ruins later that afternoon, the dagger tucked into his belt. He spent hours running drills, practicing his strikes and trying to channel his Spark into the blade.

The dagger felt different from the sword—lighter, quicker, but harder to control. The lightning crackled faintly along the blade, surging in short bursts as Kael swung it.

His frustration grew with each failed attempt. The energy was there, just out of reach, but he couldn't seem to grasp it fully.

Kael threw the dagger to the ground, his chest heaving. "Why can't you just work?" he shouted, his voice echoing through the ruins.

The sound of footsteps made him freeze.

Kael turned sharply, his hand darting to the dagger. A figure emerged from the shadows, their movements slow and deliberate.

It was a young man, no older than Kael, with a cocky grin and a spear slung over his shoulder. His armor was mismatched and dented, but his posture was confident, almost mocking.

"Nice sparks," the man said, his tone light. "But you've got no idea what you're doing, do you?"

Kael's grip on the dagger tightened. "Who the hell are you?"

"Just someone who's seen too many idiots burn themselves out trying to play hero," the man said, shrugging. "Name's Ren. You look like you could use some pointers."

Kael narrowed his eyes. "And why would you help me?"

Ren smirked. "Let's just say I've got a soft spot for underdogs. Plus…" He gestured to the scorch marks on the ground. "You've got potential. If you don't kill yourself first."

Kael hesitated, his instincts screaming at him not to trust the stranger. But the prospect of guidance—of someone who actually knew what they were doing—was too tempting to ignore.

"Fine," Kael said reluctantly. "But if you try anything, you're getting zapped."

Ren laughed, shouldering his spear. "Fair enough. Let's get to work, Sparky."